


filled

by elleafaim



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Desert Island, Desperation, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Slavery, Soft Ben Solo, Starvation, Survival, hunger, not by ben
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleafaim/pseuds/elleafaim
Summary: Rey is given over as a slave to a tribe of cruel island-dwelling aliens.Eighteen months later, she has given up hope of ever being rescued, and is just trying to survive one day at a time— naked and starving. Constantly, desperately starving.Then a human miner from the other side of the island discovers her. His name is Ben, and he says he's going to save her.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	filled

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: starvation, abuse, rape, slavery
> 
> (no ben this chapter, just rey suffering)

Rey is naked.

She's naked, and bruised, and her wrists and ankles are tied tightly with rope.

But as she stands on the auction block, listening to the crowd call out numbers, she keeps her chin in the air.

And when she's finally sold, when she's dragged off the stage she shoved toward a man with cruel eyes, her purchaser, she doesn't break, she doesn't cry.

Because it's one thing to be sold as a slave.

It's quite another to obey.

And Rey has no intention of obeying.

***

The man who purchased her— Cress, he says his name is— hauls her onto his ship and gives a few brief orders to the pilot, and soon enough, they're hurtling through space.

Rey's never been off of Jakku before, but she's hardly in a position to enjoy the trip. She's too busy writhing on the floor, trying to loosen her bindings.

"There's nowhere for you to run," Cress tells her. He seems amused. "We're in a sealed ship."

"Don't patronize me," Rey spits at him.

"Manners," Cress says mildly.

Rey scoffs. "I won't call you master, if that's what you want," she snarls. "Never."

Cress smiles. "I don't think that will pose much of a problem," he says. "I won't be your master, not for long."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm on my way to Perathin," says Cress. "To hand you over to a tribe of Sivians, in exchange for permission to mine on their island. _They'll_ be your masters."

"What are— Sivians?" Rey asks, frowning. She feels the beginnings of something like fear bubbling inside her, but she pushes it down.

"Sentient life form. Humanoid. Very primitive," Cress tells her blithely. "They live in tribes on isolated islands. Perathin's covered with them."

Rey takes a deep breath, sets her jaw. She's not afraid. She's not. "Well," she says. "I won't call them master either,"

And she means it.

She really, really does.

***

Rey curls up as tightly as she can when they land, and presses her body against the side of the ship, but Cress lifts her easily into his arms, undeterred by her struggling.

He exits the ship, still carrying Rey, who glances around wildly, trying to take in her surroundings.

She can see a blue sky overhead, and a vast beach sloping up to a jungle of wild-looking trees. It's an island, and it looks empty.

But then Cress lets out a guttural sound, and several tall figures emerge from the trees.

Rey goes still. The figures— Sivians, Rey presumes— have grey skin and large heads and four arms. They're dressed in scraps of fur and hide. And they're staring, with unmistakable greed, directly at Rey.

Unceremoniously, Cress drops Rey to the ground and gives her a kick. "Stand," he says.

Rey just curls up, trying to ignore the way the sun-baked sand burns against her naked skin.

The Sivians crowd around her, bend down, and begin to touch her— her face, her breasts, her feet, her crotch.

One of them says a few incomprehensible words to Cress, and he responds in their language.

The Sivian nods. So does Cress.

Then he turns on his heel and walks away.

"Wait!" cries Rey. "You can't leave me here!"

Cress doesn't look back. He boards his ship.

"Please!" Rey calls. "They're going to hurt me!"

The ship's door is closing, and one of the Sivians is mounting Rey, forcibly uncurling her body, pressing her down upon the scorching sand.

" _Please_!" Rey screams. " _PLEASE_!"

The Sivian covers her mouth with one of his hands, and spreads her legs with two others.

Rey closes her eyes and sobs.

_**Eighteen months later** _

Rey is naked.

She’s been naked for the past year, or two years, or however long she’s been on this island. The Sivians wear coverings of furs and skins to protect themselves, but Rey is their slave, apparently unworthy of luxuries like clothes, no matter how cold the nights get, no matter how rough the trees are that they force her to climb for birds' nests and honey.

She doesn’t recognize her body as her own anymore, so changed is it by privation and suffering, so gaunt and scarred and burned.

Her skin is parched, baked brown by constant exposure to the sun, and it stretches tightly, like old leather, over the protruding bones of her emaciated frame. Her breasts are shriveled and puckered above her prominent ribs, and her belly is empty, concave, sunken: nothing but a gaping basin between her jutting hip-bones. Her limbs are like sticks, painfully thin and wasted, so skinny that her joints look hugely swollen in contrast. The soles of her feet are black and thickly callused. Her hair hangs down her back in a matted mess. When she touches her face with her rough, bony hands, she can feel the sharpness of her cheekbones, the hollowness of her eye-sockets.

She can't imagine that the Sivians still find her attractive, but they must, because they rape her day after day, night after night, pounding into her skeletal body, fucking her parched mouth.

Sometimes, if she's good, they feed her afterward— a few scraps of raw or putrid food, perhaps some ant larvae or fish entrails.

But other times— most times— she goes hungry.

***

Tonight, sits on the sand, a few feet away from the Sivians as they prepare their dinner. The air is alive with the scents of food, and Rey feels her insides quicken with need, with the desperate desire for nourishment to fill the hole which hunger has gnawed in her belly.

The Sivians tend the embers where they have laid fish, roots, and small furred animals.

Rey longs to fall upon these creatures, to tear them apart, stuff them in her mouth, even before their fur is singed, before their flesh is seared, before the blood has stopped bubbling inside them…

But when at last the feast is ready, Rey is not invited.

She is free to listen to the noises of sucking, of bones being cracked; free to watch the contortions of grey Sivian throats.

But she is not allowed to eat, not today.

***

Not the next day either.

***

Finally, two days later, toward the end of the morning meal, somebody flings Rey a fish-tail and a dorsal fin. Scarcely believing her luck, she snatches them out of the dirt and starts sucking at the tail's glutinous membrane. When she’s eaten that, she risks her mouth on the barbed fin for the sake of a shred of flesh she imagines she sees adhering to its base. Then she runs her tongue around her lips and teeth, licks her deliciously rank fingers, and whimpers once or twice to herself.

(Could she perhaps crawl out after dark and scavenge for the bones of those small furred animals, she wonders? But no, the dog-like island creatures carry off any remains that the Sivians fail to swallow.)

***

Some weeks go by, a blur of rape and hunger and more rape. As always, food is rare. On one memorable evening, she manages to snap up from under the Sivians' noses a bit of roasted snake, which produces in her an ecstasy such as she has never experienced before, an ecstasy which flickers up from the pit of her stomach and blooms in her bony chest as her body works to digest the pitifully small bit of snake-flesh.

***

Days later, is night again, and Rey is offered scraps: a bone to gnaw, a fragment of scorched hide to chew and suck— acts which she performs greedily, gratefully.

As she eats, she ponders her state of complete degradation, stares down at the filth which she has come to accept as a part of her blistered hands. But she is comforted by the smells in her nostrils, the shreds of meat in her mouth, the saliva trickling down her throat into her shriveled stomach.

***

One day the fishermen net a very large fish, a cause for celebration among the Sivians. During the subsequent feasting, the tribe is less conscious than usual of its slave, and she succeeds in raking from the coals a large lump of the fish’s rather blubbery flesh, burning her fingers and lips in her haste to devour it.

Her eyes are bulging as she strains to chew, her lips running with fishy fat, and her only thought is to fill the hollow of her insides, regardless of whether she might burst.

When she’s finished, she rubs her greasy hands on her abdomen, her shrunken belly uncomfortably gorged.

(Sometimes, seated cross-legged by the coals of the fire, she lifts her hands to her desiccated breasts, not unlike brown, wizening pears; she runs her fingers down her shrunken thighs, scarred and burned by the Sivians’ firesticks; she buries her fist in the aching cavern of her stomach; and she laughs at her wretchedness. Sometimes.

But tonight, she laughs because she is full, or at least as full as she can ever hope to be.)

**Author's Note:**

> next chapter: rescue!
> 
> please leave me a kudo or comment if you are interested in this; it would mean a lot!!


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